


Thanks A Lot

by sable_tyger (orphan_account)



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sable_tyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asami breaks up with Mako.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks A Lot

“Mako.” Her voice is cold, a pool of silver. Asami has had a lot of practice at this—long since learned how to smile around the rough edges of a grimace, swallowing her desperation like broken glass. “I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

Asami lifts one brow—this, too, is a calculated act; she feels like an automaton, her body moving without her consent, her voice speaking even as she feels motionless, immovable, empty. She just looks at him for a long moment, until finally Mako shrugs off his own uneasiness like it’s hers instead, like he’s not responsible for it, and then he gets to his feet and leaves Korra’s bedside.

“Thank you,” Asami says. “I understand that your time is important, and that you have to carefully pick and choose the people you spend it with.” _That’s_ more like her usual self, too much; he doesn’t get to see this side of her anymore, she won’t let him. She shuts it down. When Mako glances at her, sharply, her face is a mirror—flat, empty.

She closes Korra’s door behind them and faces Mako in the hallway. She’s of height with him, which she can tell makes him uncomfortable—he used to like it, before. But that doesn’t matter to her anymore, it _doesn’t._

“What do you want to talk about?” Mako says, tired, shifty. He doesn’t meet her gaze, like he’s afraid she’ll know everything as soon as he does.

The direct approach, then? _I know you and Korra kissed._ Or, even better— _I know you have feelings for her._ But the words are like stones in her mouth, dry and heavy, pressing down on her tongue.

Instead, she says: “You can’t save her, Mako.”

He does stare at her now, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about.” Flat, inflectionless. As if she can’t see right through him.

“Her vulnerability appeals to you,” Asami says. “Let’s put it that way. Let’s say this is true: you liked me well enough when we started dating.”

“Of course I—”

“And let’s say this is true, then: my vulnerability appealed to you.”

He’s speechless, now, laid bare. She’s stripping away the trappings, tearing him open rib-by-rib. She likes the imagery, melodramatic as it is, gory as it is. Maybe she specifically likes the gore.

“You have a saving people thing, Mako,” Asami says. “You like to protect people.”

“So what?” His voice finally musters itself. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Some of us don’t need you to protect us,” she says. “We need you to care about us when it matters, all of the time. Not just when we’re in danger—not just when we’ve been kidnapped, or just had to electrocute our fathers, or….”

He watches her, a caged animal, all set on edge. “I _do_ care about her all the time.”

And, oh, that one hurts, he meant that one to hurt. Well, she can hardly blame him, the way she’s tearing him open, but. It still aches, pulsing, like an open wound. She’s not interested in letting it fester. “Then prove it,” she says. Tears sting at the back of her eyes, but do not fall; like a thing diseased, the only way to remove them now would be by scalpel. “She deserves better than this.” _So did I._ “She can take care of herself. She escaped by herself, got away from Tarrlock without our help. Without your help. Play nursemaid to her all you want, but she’s as strong as you, stronger. She doesn’t need you to protect her, carry her, shield her.”

“What do you know about anything,” Mako says.

“I see you’re not feeling receptive to my advice. That’s fine. You’ll regret it when Korra resents you for trying to protect her from everything.” Her blood is hot beneath her skin; Mako can probably see that now, her flushed face, her control slipping. She turns to leave, but first: “Oh, yeah. Before I go, in case this wasn’t clear—this is me breaking up with you.”

She walks away, her steps measured, her heels loud in the enclosed space. Mako says something behind her; she barely hears him over the crescendo of panic and relief building in her ears. “Tell Korra I wish her luck,” she tosses over her shoulder, and then she’s gone, the hallway empty and silent and her heart beating in her chest, against her ribs, pained.


End file.
